


What Do You Want?

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 19:43:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes a scene in Ep.213 to a very different level</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Do You Want?

**Author's Note:**

> Depending on one's perspective, possible kink  
> Admittedly not everyone's cup of tea.  
> Originally posted on my LJ in 2010

_“This vision inspires no terror in me. I know that there is no monster hiding in the abyss; there is only fire, the original fire.” ©Michael Houellebecq_  
  
         Hesitant baby steps, one in front of the other, responded to the buttery soft words, halfway between a request and a command. _“Come over here.”_   Like a moth to a flame, his feet carried him to the bare-chested man sprawled in the chair, his long and lithe legs spread in enticing invitation, urging him to close the gap.  
  
         The face was calm, the manner controlled—certainly no reason for him to be tense. Yet icy fingers crawled up and down his spine, torturing him with a hundred fearful reservations and a hundred more nerve-wracking expectations. In his over-excited mind, the luxuriously lashed hazel rounds were golden rings of heat. Pierced with their fiery flecks, they held him captive, drawing him in with pinpoint accuracy.  
  
**_“_** **He who had cast the spell knew upon whom it had fallen. The rapid beating of their expectant hearts was heard by him. Then at his bidding they came where he dwelt and as the spell rested more, they learned what it meant.”** © Sunday at Home Magazine (c.1891)  
  
         Lightheaded with lust, Justin stood in front of the impossibly handsome man without any rational thought. He sank to his knees as if in supplication and knelt between the slim, muscled limbs, placing tentative hands on the toned thighs. When they quivered under his touch, a rush of adrenalin surged through his veins and beads of sweat formed on his upper lip. His shaky fingers stumbled in their haste to snake the supple leather through the loops.  
  
         Before he could throw it on the floor, Brian caught his wrist and gave a slight squeeze. His weighted gaze asked the unspoken question of many times before, and although he received the same, equally unspoken answer, the rapid pulse under his fingers was proof to the contrary. Eyes locked, he released his grasp, giving Justin silent permission to slide the belt to the floor.  
  
         The clang of the metal buckle against wood sliced through the air like a Samurai sword. Coated in a slime of apprehension, Justin shivered as a persistent awareness fluttered in his deepest recesses. The feathery wisps tore at his mind, awakening every weak impulse in his soul and questioning every belief in himself. What the fuck was wrong with him? He wasn’t ready. He never would be. He couldn’t be.  
  
         He didn’t need that to enhance sex. Sex with Brian didn’t need any kinks, not that he had many instances for comparison, of course. But he couldn’t imagine it being any better, any more fulfilling, any more mind-blowing.  
  
         _Yet_... He couldn’t deny he had been turned on when Brian, in his own inimitable way, tried to teach him a lesson after dumpster boy’s demise. 'Turned on' turned out to be an understatement, not even coming close to the incomparable need that ripped through him like a freight train. He blushed at the memory of manhandling Brian with a possessive growl, of ordering him to fuck him.  
  
         _And_... What about when he danced on the coffee table amid half-empty Thai food containers, showing Brian the moves that had convinced Sap to hire him? He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been painfully aroused by their play, silently cursing Lindsay and Melanie for interrupting them. He had been so fucking hard!  
  
         Each time Brian had unknowingly stirred something inside that he couldn’t define and didn’t even know existed.  
  
                                    _“Needles at your nerve ends crawl like spiders on your skin,_  
_Pounding in your temples and a surge of adrenaline_  
_Every muscle tense to fence the enemy within.”  ©Peart,Lee,Lifeson_  
  
         He had barely registered the disturbing darkness in the hazel eyes before a hand lashed out and grabbed his arm. Like a panther on the verge of striking, Brian jumped up from the chair and spun him around across the desk. With nervous palms clutching each side to stay upright, an icy knife of panic pierced Justin’s chest despite his inner mantra that he had no reason to be afraid. White noise buzzing in his ears, he didn’t hear the half empty glass of Beam shatter when it crashed to the floor, didn’t see the papers scatter like snowflakes at their feet.  
  
         The torturous drag and slide of Brian’s zipper threaded through his skin like a needle. For countless seconds, the only sound was his ragged breathing—until a car horn blared in the street below and an ambulance siren wailed in the distance, the din of every day life a stark contrast to their activities.  
  
         Brian wormed a hand to Justin’s groin, smirking at the bulge straining his jeans. He yanked open the buttons and gave the denim a harsh jerk, pushing them down to pool around the shaking ankles in a cuff. Like a man possessed, he tugged Justin’s shirt over his head, forcing the trembling arms to rise up with the cloth. But instead of flinging it away, he wrapped and twisted the fabric in his hand, securing him in another set of makeshift shackles.  
  
        _“_ Is this what you want?” With the fingers of his free hand coiled in the blond hair, he pulled Justin’s head up, ignoring his sharp gasp of pain. Even a feeble wriggle to escape couldn’t persuade him to relinquish his hold. Instead, he pushed his face down to meet the cool glass, pinning him with his hips and oh-so-naked cock.  
  
        “Brian!”  
  
         He blanketed Justin with his weight, the position giving his mouth free rein to tease and taste. “I’m going to do it, Justin.” The devil tongue slithered around his ear. “You think you’re not ready, but you are.”  
  
        “Brian, no!”  
  
        “Only words, Sunshine. Empty, meaningless words. You know why? Because your body is telling me something else. It’s _been_ telling me something else for months.”  
  
         He hadn’t planned or anticipated this, even though a certain blond’s unacknowledged predilections had raised a provocative red flag for a while. Justin didn’t understand the complexity of his own body, yet let alone its needs. But Brian did.  
  
         The signs were all there, subtle clues that would have been lost if he hadn’t been paying attention. And pay attention he did—from their first shower, to the “stranger danger” lesson, and recently, to their aborted playful spanking. On more than one occasion, his unique instinct regarding all things Justin prompted him to drop hints or ask innocuous questions but he never pushed. Until now. Ambushed by an unfulfilled hunger, the tenuous band holding his self-control together snapped.  
  
        “Don’t-move-a-fucking-muscle!” He reached down to pick up the belt and swung it noiselessly in the air, giving Justin time to accept his fate. The leather dangled from one hand like a held breath while the other caressed the pale ass like a lover.  
  
         When moist lips touched his neck, Justin’s first impulse was to violently repel him, break the spell of mock brutishness. But the pull was too strong, drowning him in the naughtiness, tempting him with the thrill. Betrayed by his body, he arched his back with a moan.  
  
        “Tell me,” Brian ordered, surprised at how breathless he sounded.  
  
        “Brian—”  
  
        “Tell me why you want to be spanked.”  
  
        “I don’t!”  
  
         Brian gave a throaty chuckle. “Liar,” he whispered, nipping at the fleshy lobe.  
  
        “Oww!”  
  
        “You’ve been curious, haven’t you?”  
  
         A rosy blush colored Justin’s face when he felt a knowing smile against his temple. The honey velvet voice flowed through him like liquid chocolate.  
  
        “You get hard thinking about it—pain and pleasure mixed together, not knowing where one ends and the other begins—wondering if the pain would get you off or the pleasure, worrying you’re some kind of freak for wanting it.”  
  
         When teeth grazed his neck, his goosebumps developed goosebumps. “No, I—” He squirmed but Brian held him firm. “Please.” He choked out the desperate plea but didn’t know what he was begging for.  
  
        “Please what?”  
  
        “I, God!” Was this the turning point? Was this when he finally acknowledged his hidden desires, those yearnings he had tried to ignore?  
  
         The licentious deepening in Brian’s tone vibrated through him like an electric charge. “How many strokes would it take to make you come? Would a couple of light smacks do it, just enough to warm your ass, turn it a delicate shade of pink?”  
  
         Already painfully hard, Justin pulsed at the verbal eroticism and throbbed in agony at the next taunting comment.  
  
        “Or would you be stubborn as usual and hold out to see how far I’d go, waiting until your bubble butt was on fire before giving in to the pain and the pleasure?” Brian snickered. “Of course, these are all rhetorical questions. I really don’t expect you to answer. What I do want is for you to admit what you want.”  
  
        “I, I can’t!”  
  
        “Yes, you can. It’s time, Justin.” The shudder revealed more than words ever could—telling him not to stop, to take him over the edge, to make him explode in a fireball of heaven and hell.  
  
                          **''Tell me what you want that I can supply, and I will supply it. I'm not here to give pleasure but to fill the abyss of want.”** B.M.Koltas  
  
         Pummeled by waves of conflict, liquid seeped between Justin’s lashes. If Brian could see his eyes, he’d see them begging—to give him this, to not give him this; to let him go, to not let him go; to ignore his wants, to fulfill his needs.  
  
        _“Say it!”_  
  
         As if wrenched from the depths of his soul, the confession tumbled out. “I. Want. It.”  
  
        “This?”  
  
         He heard the whoosh in the air and tensed, scrunching his eyes, waiting for the first blow—that didn’t come. His eyes filled with uncertain tears, whether from relief or disappointment he didn’t know, and his body unconsciously relaxed.  
  
         Allowing himself the luxury of a deep breath, he was in the middle of a forceful exhale when it landed with no warning or sound, the unbelievable fiery sting on one ass cheek. His body jerked and he let out a gurgled cry. Stiff with tension once again, his confined hands clutched the desk with a white knuckled grip. Before he had time to recover, the second lick struck a wide stripe on the other cheek. He shrieked, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. “Fuck!”  
  
         The force of the belt against Justin’s flesh lanced through Brian’s hand, up his arm and into his cock. “Do you want me to stop?” He tried to catch a glimpse of the blue eyes, to gauge how far to take him, but they were squeezed tight.  
  
         Unable to form a coherent thought, Justin shook his head. The maelstrom of buried feelings now surfacing had his body screaming to be set free and threatened to rip him into a million pieces.  
  
        “Fucking answer me!”  
  
        “Fuck! I— No! Okay? No!” The bottled up admittance shredded him to the core. “But it hurts!”  
  
        “I know,” Brian answered simply and raised his hand.  
  
         When the third stroke lashed across his crack, Justin moaned and twisted his hips. It was too much. The pleasure, the _pain_ , horribly wrong and marvelously right, made the need to come so hard he was sure he’d explode.  
  
         Overtaken with primal lust, Brian ruthlessly continued. His unconscious grunts mingling with Justin’s strangled sobs, he slapped the bare ass over and over again. He first thought Justin’s fidgeting was an attempt to avoid the humiliating pain. But when he realized he was leaning into the blows, his blood boiled.  
  
         The fruitless whimpers and plaintive cries became shriller with each strike. If a particular piece of flesh didn’t elicit a response, he moved on to another. When the end of the belt curved into Justin’s cleft and balls, the ear-splitting yell ricocheted off the walls.  
  
         After what seemed like forever, Brian flung the belt on the floor and pressed himself against the shaking body, the ruby ass burning through his denim-clad thighs. He kissed the nape of Justin’s neck and brushed the dampened hair off his forehead, grinding his erection against the fiery flesh.  
  
         The combined sensation of the rough jeans chafing his welts and the hard cock rubbing his ass short-circuited the connections in Justin’s brain. He didn’t even hear the muttered words, “I’m gonna fuck you now, Justin.”  
  
         Brian put the condom on with shaking hands and parted the inflamed cheeks, fingers deliberately kneading the blood red stripes. An ocean’s roar thundering in his head, he pressed into the narrow channel with one powerful thrust. Justin’s keening wail at the intrusion reverberated through the loft. Covered with a sheen of perspiration, Brian pounded without missing a beat. When the body beneath him stiffened, a thrill of satisfaction thundered through his veins.  
  
         It didn’t take long—a millisecond in the universe’s endless clock.  
  
         Mouth open and eyelids fluttering, Justin bucked as waves of pleasure split him into a super nova. He exploded with a guttural cry in a kaleidoscope of white-hot light and deafening noise, the blinding orgasm surging through him like a lightning bolt.  
  
         The muscle spasm choking his dick was all Brian needed to send him over the edge. He shuddered and pulsed into the condom with Justin’s name on his lips, collapsing on top of him in the frenzy of his own release.  
  
         _Time ceased to exist, seconds of exquisite torture reconfigured as minutes, but neither man noticed. It was, after all, only time._  
  
         The storm that had rolled through both men slowly dissipated, releasing its magnetic charge in a mist of breathless gasps. Braced on trembling arms, Brian eased out with a squish, discarded the condom and tucked himself in. He helped Justin from the desk, propping him against the edge while he pulled his shirt back down and his jeans back up.  
  
         Confused tears rolling down his face, Justin silently sobbed. Brian pulled him into a gentle embrace and lowered his face into the damp hair, breathing in his scent.  
  
         Justin burrowed closer and clung to Brian’s shirt. A fleeting shadow stabbed him with sorrow—he would never meet anyone else who would make him feel so open and safe. The prospect was such a profound hurt that he found it difficult to concentrate. If he didn’t push it out of his mind, its sadness would eclipse the present. “Thank you.”  
  
         Brian arched a quizzical brow. “For what?”  
  
        “You gave me what I wanted, what I needed. Only I didn’t know it. But _you_ did.” Justin pressed his lips against the left side of Brian’s chest. “You hear that?”  
  
        “Hmm? What?”  
  
         Justin grinned. He grasped Brian’s hand in his and placed it where his lips had been. “That!”  
  
        “You mean my heart trying to bust through a rib? Yeah, I hear it.”  
  
        “That’s my most favorite sound in the whole world, your heartbeat inside of me when you come. I feel it in your dick.” He stepped back, wincing at the pain. “I wanted this to happen, Brian. I _needed_ this to happen.” His fingers shook as they traced the angled jaw. Raised on his toes, he kissed the tip of his nose. “I’m glad it was you—for everything.”  
  
         The blue eyes sparkled with an emotion Brian didn’t want to acknowledge. Caught off guard by the candor, by the trust, he sucked in a breath and swallowed to dislodge the unwelcome lump in his throat. “I’ll make it up to you next time. I promise.”  
  
         Drained by the evening, Justin stifled a yawn. “Can you make it up to me now by going to bed and healing my tortured ass with your medicinal kisses?”  
  
         Brian studied his face. This originally intended, no-strings-attached fuck had gutted his discipline and shaken his judgment. He had met his match. “This doctor’s bedside manner is good for anything that ails you.”

  
  
     **Sometimes there’s a shift deep inside. Whether by circumstance or design, it reminds you of what you’ve always known but never acknowledged. The realization opens your eyes, giving you the opportunity to look into your soul—the beginning of something....**


End file.
